Her Songs Are Wild
by waitingforthehogwartsletter
Summary: Arya Stark grew up on music, on Mozart, Beethoven and her father's own music. She is as forced into the classical music as much as she loved the alternative when her half-brother Jon first played it for her. As such, she grows to breathe music more than air itself, and soon is met with other versions of musicians, and a very, very mysterious and talented one named Gendry.
1. the soft melody of her family

**Summary**: _Arya Stark grew up on music, on Mozart, Beethoven and her father's own music. She is as forced into the classical music as much as she loved the alternative when her half-brother Jon first played it for her. As such, she grows to breathe music more than air itself, and soon is met with other versions of musicians, and a very, very mysterious and talented one named Gendry._

_**Arya is 16, Jon, Robb and Gendry are 19, Sansa is almost 18, Bran is 13 and Rickon is 10. Jon is Ned's first child, born a few months before Robb, as Catelyn was already pregnant when they married. Whole family is into classical music, but Ned stopped his musical carrier (in which he mostly worked together with Robert Baratheon) years before and now is a manager. Baratheons own a complexion of buildings called the King's Landing, although previously it was a Targaeryen property. It was taken over by illegal means, but I'm still not sure whether this fanfiction would be as long to bother with those problems. It's mostly about Arya, her life, her story and… her Gendry**_.

_If love was red then she was colour blind._

**NED **

Eddard Stark woke up at the sounds of impatient strumming of guitar chords. He sighed, with his moves still dull with sleep, before rolling onto his back and glancing at his wife by his side. Catelyn slept peacefully, and he thought these days it was the only time she looked peaceful. Sighing once again, he slowly sat up, putting his feet on the cold wooden floor as his skin prickled and cowered. The cold he loved so dearly helped removing the shadows from his mind and vision, and he stood up and went to the bathroom, still thinking of the melody coming through the walls.

It wasn't odd the way the music woke him up but not his wife, too; every morning one or more of his children would without exception pick their instruments up and start playing. Ned wasn't as used to this as Catelyn was – his 'new' profession not quite rarely had him traveling on months long trips to wherever it was needed. He would not complain, though: he was more than proud to sense his loved children's eagerness and affection towards music.

This morning, it was two of them. His oldest, Jon, sat by the window in Arya's (Ned's fourth and Catelyn's third child) room with her sitting on the window sill, repeating her half-brother's chords with trembling, insecure fingers. When they noticed their father, though, both stopped playing, and Jon looked up at him warmly and Arya a little scared.

"Good morning, father." Jon rumbled in his deep voice. He smiled. "Have you slept well?"

"Yes, well it was, not quite long, though." Ned glanced at the sky behind Arya's back. It was barely past sunrise. "When have you started with the guitar, Arya?"

Arya quickly glanced at Jon, who gave her an amused nod, and she averted her eyes back to her father's calm face. "I've been practicing a bit for a year. Never could find much time, though, since Jon's tutoring me and he's busy, too."

"Why haven't I known this before?" Ned asked. He was surprised by the news, although not very shocked; Arya was always of unexpected, various actions. He supposed her and Jon were quite alike, although Arya had a spark and anger in her a lot more. She always blamed something on someone, more often than not, herself.

"Dad, you've been away for almost 8 months. How could you have known?" Arya frowned.

Ned sighed – it was Arya's constant companion, the sharp honesty with no holding back. He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms on his chest. "You could've said – it's not like I haven't called a lot or came back whenever I had a few days."

Arya shrugged. Jon answered instead of her. "You've been busy, dad. We all have. When you were here, there were always more important things to talk about."

"I would've found a moment for this." Ned defended himself. He didn't know if that was quite true: his irregular visits were heavily burdened with celebrations and visits from the rest of his family.

"Of course you would." Jon said. Arya huffed.

"Still, it's not like I'm pro or something; as I've said, I haven't practiced a lot. Haven't even tried playing anything harder than Jingle bells."

"I doubt you've really played Jingle Bells, dear." Ned said as John laughed at his sister's words.

Arya smiled almost shyly (but Arya was never really shy) and Jon said "Her first was Smoke on the Water, and it took her only three minutes to take down the chorus."

Arya smacked him on the head, holding the guitar close to her heart with the other hand. "It took me two, dumb!"

Ned laughed but still pointed one finger at her accusingly "Don't call your brother dumb."

"Okay, than fool."

"_Arya_!"

"Oh, just let her be father, better to take it out on me than other innocent humans." Jon was still laughing.

Arya snarled and muttered angrily. "You're more innocent than the lot of them, Jon Snow."

"Right, because I'm so cute and lovely darling."

"Dammit Jon, once in a year I say something nice and you can't take it properly!"

"If that was nice, I'm a ferret. On the other hand, as nice as it is, I doubt it's something of a yearly event. More like – every five years, sister dear."

Ned stood at the door, listening to his children's bickering for a while, not uttering a word. He smiled at them, his eyes softly grazing their sharp, cold features. Out of the lot, only Arya and Jon looked like him. Both with dark grey eyes and almost black curls. Arya was skinny and short, even for her young age of 16. Jon was shorter than his younger brother Robb, but looked older, a dark scruff visible over his jaw, his eyes older and his built bulkier. Jon's hair reached almost to his shoulders, as messy as ever, and Arya's, just a shade lighter than his, was only long enough to curl softly on the nape of her neck. She preferred the simpler, more practical look, and it was something both Catelyn and their older daughter Sansa like to scowl at. Ned was, secretly, proud of that. He never once joined the sharp words when they happened, but only smiled fondly at Arya, who in those moments stared at him or the walls. Never once would she look down at the floor, never once would she seem small, she would always keep her ground no matter how the words made her feel. Ned hoped one day she would come to him, spilling her thoughts and insecurities, and although Ned was never out in the open with his own flawed mind, he knew he could help her. He also knew, however, Arya would not come to him. She would rather lock away everything and keep those stubborn eyes of hers ahead, breaking through the brick walls with her head.

"Dad?"

He looked up, blinking, to see his two children staring at him. "Yes?"

"You sure you're awake?" Arya asked.

"Yes, I am." He laughed. "In fact, would you care to join me for breakfast? Bet you're starving."

"Well, we have been practicing for two hours…" Jon claimed. He looked up at his sister who stroked the guitar strings with tips of her fingers and chewed on her lip.

"Suppose we could use some energy. We'll come back, though, right Jon?" she jumped from the window and put away the guitar.

"Umm…" Jon looked guilty.

Arya sighed in annoyance. "Not her again!"

Ned shook his head and slowly stalked toward the stairs, pursuing the kitchen and whatever food they had. He heard their footsteps and voices, hushed to keep the rest of their family asleep, but Arya's tone was as sharp and annoyed as loud as a cannon would be.

When Catelyn told him Arya couldn't stay for dinner, since she was allowed to go out on Saturday whenever she wanted as long as she came back till 11, and Arya had a party to be at that night, Ned was more than shocked, more than sad, and just a little less than angry. Arya was his daughter, just like Sansa was Catelyn's, but he couldn't bring himself to understand what exactly made Arya actually brush her hair and clip back most of it, as if she was annoyed by the looseness of her hair, and he could not possibly understand why she let Sansa change her face with makeup and why she was not wearing a loose t-shirt and baggy trousers or jeans like every other day.

"So… this party – who's arranging it?" Ned frightfully asked his daughter as she fastened her combat boots on her feet. She took a second to look up at him and snort – Ned was visibly struck with her grey eyes being lined to look more catlike than ever. He thought there must've been something else on her face, something to sharpen those already sharp features even more, but Ned was no fashion crazed man. He couldn't tell what made his daughter look older than she was.

"_Dad_!" she snarled, looking back down at her boots. "No party gets '_arranged'_ anymore. It's just that someone calls someone else who calls someone else and so on, and one day, the place of the first party becomes a regular party-place every second Saturday or whatever day it's supposed to be. So yeah, I sometimes go there with my friends –"

"What friends?" Ned abruptly cut in.

"Sixteen year old, immature, young people who happen to for some reason tolerate, or even like me, the people I spend most of my free time with, and people that do not require your acquaintance!"

Arya jumped up to her feet, placing her expression into a cheerful, happy one, and quickly hugged her father, escaping his reach before he had the time to hug her back. "I'll be home around 11."

"Around? You mother said until 11!"

"Really dad, it's the same thing. I don't have a car, so I have to ask someone for a ride home, and everyone else gets to stay more than a couple of hours longer!" Arya smiled. "So be happy with around 11."

"I can pick you up whenever you want me to." Ned protested. Anxiety built up in him. He wasn't ready for this – he couldn't know if she'd be safe.

"Exactly – whenever _I_ want you to. But I don't want you to. Bye dad, enjoy the dinner!"

And she was out, slamming the door behind her.

Eddard Stark, former successful pianist and one of the most respected people in Westeros was left slouching against the door frame, rubbing his face and sighing in fear and exhaustion fatherhood brought him.

**ARYA**

Telling her father about her '_friends'_ hurt more than a little bit, and seeing as it was a lie, too, she wished she could just detach herself from all the emotional distress having loving family brought her.

She didn't _mean_ to lie to him, and she didn't like to either. But Arya knew there were some things her parents would never allow, and participating in creating or supporting music that they couldn't – no, _wouldn't_ – understand was one of them.

Jon waited for her in his car, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as the music silenced even the slamming of the door behind her. She sunk into her seat and glanced at him. Although he hadn't looked up from his phone in the hand free of setting the rhythm, she knew he knew she was there.

Finally, after at least three minutes, he sighed and put away his phone before turning down the blaring of guitars, drums and screams.

"When have you gone all heavy metal?" Arya wondered.

Jon glared at her sideways. He scoffed and turned on the car, slowly pulling backward and then starting to drive to their destination.

"I haven't." he kept his eyes forward, but the setting of his jaw made Arya wonder why would he be as anxious as he obviously was. "Ygritte recommended them to me." Arya snorted at this but he pushed on, defending himself and his dearly beloved _girlfriend_. "I should get as educated as I can in every piece of music, well, _good_ music at least."

"They don't sound good to me." Arya bickered.

"That's because you're not _listening_."

And there that was again. When Jon quickly glanced at her for a moment, she noticed the same wideness and spark in his eyes there always was when he'd show her something new he found, a good song he somehow caught or even a piece he did on his own. The look in his eyes he sometimes had when she would catch him secretly sneaking up on her while playing her piano. The look in his eyes when she played something he showed her correctly on the guitar. The look in his eyes the first time she told him (before she even knew he was already on the same page) that she could not possibly keep forcing herself into classics, how she wanted _more_.

She wondered if there was a similar look on her face at times.

She decided not to consume herself in distracting thoughts but to listen to the song beginning to slowly growl in the car. She softly turned up the music and saw Jon smile from the side of her eye.

Ygritte was a complete rebel to everything that existed in Arya's world. She had the red hair that somehow burned your eyes, whereas Arya's mother and sister had the hair softly red, the hair that would soothe and calm. Unless you were as wild as Arya, of course, and it led to nothing but discomfort.

Aside with her looks, Ygritte smiled and growled at words completely normal to Arya. Ygritte held nothing back, fast in her temperament, faster in her witty, rude and right on the spot responses. Ygritte was, above all, something Arya thought was the best thing for her calm and troubled brother at the moment. She's never let him see that, though. She had let Ygritte see it, because, after all, she wanted nothing more than to be in Jon's life as long as possible, and if that meant being friends with his wild, rebellious girl – then so be it.

The screaming in the song seemed less wild and more emotional and fitting to the chords and melody once you were patient and observant enough to notice the fullness of it all together. Arya supposed she's need to be daily surrounded with this music to be able to enjoy it without previously distracting herself from everything else to be able to truly _hear_ it.

After two more songs, her hand bolted out and shut down the music. Before Jon could complain or ask, she blurted out:

"Do you ever hear anything so strong and powerful and you relate to it so freakishly that you can't take it anymore unless you're completely alone and free to react anyway you'd usually react?"

Arya doesn't know if it makes any sense, but she knows, unless she'd like to explode, these were the only words able to express what she felt.

Jon doesn't even look at her, but she notices how his jaw twitches and how his hands start to grip the steering wheel a little stronger, and when he only says "Yeah.", she knows not only does he understand, he's feeling that way exactly then and there, just like her.

So she softly smiled and pulled out his CD collection.

She settles on one of Red Hot Chilly Peppers' first albums, as they were all quite easy on the ears, distracting and not slow to kill the mood they would need for the party.

"I never knew how they managed to make so many good songs with so simple melodies and not at all complicated vocal." Jon admitted. "Then I went on a concert, and as they were still testing their instruments, I noticed how different it all is when it combines. When the band started playing, I was swept off my feet, not because they were amazing or anything, but just with the raw power and possibility flowing through them. Anyone could have that, Arya, anyone."

Arya listened to him carefully before replying: "Maybe you should try forming a band."

Jon laughed long and hard.

"Dear, sweet Arya." She hated when he called her that. It was how people described Sansa. It was how Arya never felt and how she didn't want to be called. It felt too much like a lie, and she despised lies. "What would ever come out of it? How could it ever be good? I'm not good enough."

"You are good enough. I know it. Dad knows it. Ygritte knows it. If you only let other people _hear_, all of them would know it." Arya urged on, staring at him intently, and although she knew he couldn't look back at her, she knew he could sense her unbreakable stare.

"Ygritte never said that." Jon claimed and Arya rolled her eyes. Out of the bunch, those were the words he focused on. _Ygritte_. To the Seven Hells with her!

"First of all – you never asked. Second of all – you can't see her when you're playing something. And even if you could, you wouldn't notice it, Jon Snow, because you're too bloody modest and selfless to take any pride in anything." Arya almost swore, but she thought it was too early in the night for that. "Ygritte's a firm rock. She never speaks emotionally, never once looks at you like you're a sweet puppy or something." A smile tugged on Jon's lips, but Arya forced on. "Except when you're playing. Did you know, when you played that song of yours, the one she called 'Rotten Tomatoes', she actually blushed when you played the chorus?"

"In the name of Gods, Arya, are you listening to yourself? She named it 'Rotten Tomatoes' herself!"

"She probably would have called her 'Rotten Hearts' or something if it weren't for her stubborn façade. You know it as well as I do – it was as affectionate, giving your song a name, as it could be given it was her."

Jon shook his head. "We're almost there." He muttered.

"Come on, Jon, don't just change the subject on me!" Arya angrily yelled.

"I'm not, I know how much you hate it." Jon sighed and took one hand of the wheel to rub his forehead. "But we _are_ almost there, and there's always time to continue this once we're alone again. But not now, we'd be late."

Arya huffed but nodded, the row of cars in front of them proving him right.

As they parked, almost half a mile from the party, the person in the car in front of them turned off the lights and stepped out. Ygritte smirked at them and walked to meet them.

"Welcome to King's Landing, y'all." She laughed at their uneasy faces, but took Jon's hand and shrugged. "The word is that dear old Joffrey might just stay off the scene for a night. Don't know what we'll do without his gorgeous voice."

Arya snorted in laughter and the two joined her. They were still standing in place, Ygritte playfully swinging her and Jon's joined hands up and down. "The Gods must be very gracious tonight – is it really possible?"

Ygritte nodded and winked. "They say, though, it might be open mic night tonight."

"Oh, come on!" Jon whined. "One gone, ten to come! With Joff's voice not screeching into the mic, it's good, yeah, but then we'll have to stand a bunch of lousy mice squeaking back!"

Ygritte punched him in the shoulder and stepped closer to him. She leaned her head back, pulling up to her toes, and said into Jon's frowning face "Not if you get up there, Snow."

Then she kissed him and Arya started walking. Without turning back around, she shouted "I'll be there, don't worry, work it out but please don't come too soon and keep working it out in front of me!"

She heard grumbled noises from behind and wondered if those were Jon's muffled responses or his muffled sounds of pleasure. She'd rather take the former, but with Ygritte, the latter was more probable.

Nearing the complexion of buildings, most flashing with colourful lights and completely discarding the stars in the black sky, Arya wondered if people would believe her if she said she was eighteen. She might have been skinny and not much of anything on regular days, but she convinced Sansa into working some of her magic with makeup that day, and felt pretty confident she could be taken the least for seventeen of age. Her cheekbones more profound, her lips slightly darker than natural, her eyes coated in black (though only by one thin line, there was only as much Arya was ready to go for without feeling restrained), she tried doing something with her hair, but as she was completely hopeless, Sansa advised her (she wouldn't let Sansa touch her hair, she was too sensitive) to just put most of it up to express the sharp features of her face even more. So she kind of pulled it up with numerous clips and whatnot.

And Sansa (although completely repulsed with the image of her sister's) was proud.

As she walked on, she turned around to see her two companions still on the same spot, completely entwined. She sighed and shook her head, just as someone catcalled behind her. She turned around to see a few guys looking at – wait – they were looking at _her_?

She quickly turned back around, feeling her face drained of blood. Well, that was almost what she asked for. In the mass of people moving toward the King's Landing, she wasn't to be noticed as a skinny little girl. There were too many young women (cough, cough, sluts, cough) so if anyone noticed Arya, it would be because she looked at least a bit like them.

Arya pulled her black leather jacket firmly around her body and zipping it up over her unbuttoned black shirt under which she wore a sleeveless black top. Shockingly, her tight jeans were not black, but, naturally, combat boots were made to be black.

She shuddered at the thought of her father if he ever found out where she was heading. She shuddered at the thought of her father seeing her with her shirt unbuttoned. Then, she just shuddered, because she hated lies, once again.

At the entrance gates of King's Landing, Arya flashed the guards with her phone, showing them the code in a message. They gave her a suspicious look, but in the end, that was the way the guards looked at everyone, and then they let her pass.

Just as she was closing around the corner, so close to the place she really wanted to be in, not in one of the bars or discos all over the place, all of them shaking with terrible, country, pop or rap music (not that she hated particularly any type of music, she just hated the terrible songs, no matter what genre) someone called out to her and she froze on the spot.

"Oi! Yeah, you over there! I bet you my car you're not a day over 17!"

She turned around to face a boy so round in his waist she thought he was wearing a pillow under his clothes. He was dressed in baggy black jeans and a dark, unbuttoned military shirt. Underneath it he had a black tank top, similar to Arya's, just… a lot wider.

"Oh, shut your eating-hole boy, it's obviously not good enough for anything else!" she snarled and turned to walk away. As she spun on her heel, she caught sight of another guy close to the fat boy and two more on her sides. One was just rummaging through some stuff next to a wall, and the other was walking into a bar anyway.

"Shut the fuck up!" And just like that, the boy started toward her, and Arya turned around to see him too close. Damn her combat boots – they were too heavy to run in.

So she quickly unzipped her jacket and fished for something in her inside pocket. Producing the item, she twirled it in her fist and pointed it at the boy so fast he almost pierced himself through her pocket knife.

"Bloody hell bitch, you could of' killed me with that pointy little thing!"

"What makes you think I still won't?" Arya growled. "You seem to be eager to run into things too dangerous for your own good."

Why, oh why, couldn't Jon and Ygritte show up? She couldn't bloody well stick this boy with a knife and she didn't know how to stalk. She wasn't as afraid as she was annoyed.

That was when someone's voice spoke directly from behind her.

"You also seem stupid. Go away prick, or take on someone your own size."

The voice was low and as annoyed as she felt, and it came not only from behind but both from above her. She still couldn't turn around to face the man, though, as she kept the knife pointed at the boy.

Speaking of the boy, he was now gulping for air and stuttering on words yet unspoken.

"Told you it was good for nothing but eating." Arya grumbled and thought she heard the man stifle his laughter.

"Oh, fuck off, both o' you!" the boy shouted and pulled back.

"Come on Hot Pie, it seriously is not worth it." The other boy called.

Arya laughed and let her hand drop. "Hot Pie?"

She swirled around on her heel and abruptly stopped laughing; she had to move back a bit to be able to look properly into the guy's eyes. Which were blue. Quite blue. Like, pretty much bluer than any other eyes she'd ever seen. And it was a dark alley, too.

"Hi." She slowly said.

The guy rolled his eyes. "Yeah_, you're welcome_."

"Hey – I didn't ask for you to jump in! I was handling it well myself!" Arya pointed at him and he moved away. Right. The knife. She put it back into her jacket and looked up sheepishly. "Sorry."

The guy shook his head, his black hair (maybe it wasn't black, maybe it was just dark – she couldn't know, it was too dark really) swiping over his eyes. He brushed it back. It was still too messy.

"Anyway, I think I might've helped to at least get them away a bit faster." He said, waving his hand toward a general direction in which the two had come from.

"Well, even if that is true, now we'll never know!" Arya smiled mischievously. The guy swore under his breath. As stubborn as she was, she really didn't want to pull the knife out again this night – and especially not because of her own behaviour. So she offered him her hand. "I'm Arya."

The guy gave her a suspicious glare before accepting her hand. He had strong features and his hand was just as strong. Arya's gaze travelled up and down his arm, then his body. He was strong, muscled. She guessed he could've been of help if the fight really happened.

"Gendry. Pleased to be met with the hand, not the knife." He cocked one eyebrow.

She smirked smugly, releasing his hand.

"You've got a strong grip for someone who really does look seventeen." He added.

Arya snorted. "I'd be pleased if you just held back after the 'strong grip' part."

"Then I wouldn't have spoken honestly. I rather like truth."

Arya's eyes flashed to his. He looked a little taken aback with the intensity of her gaze, and he blinked. After a few moments, she roughly replied "I prefer honesty, too." coming back to her senses, she crossed her arms on her chest, blinked and looked behind him to break their stare. "But I only love it when the one speaking is right."

"So you're not seventeen?" Gendry scoffed.

Arya heard footsteps and laughter and turned around to see her half-brother and his girlfriend coming their way. She quickly smiled at Gendry, just as Jon called at her. Before joining them, she laughed.

"No, _honest Gendry_, I'm not seventeen." Before Jon decided to stop and meet the guy she had only just met, she walked aside from him and waited for Jon with her hand extended. "I'm sixteen."

Jon took her hand and pulled her tightly against him, throwing one arm over her shoulders. As Ygritte continued her rant on a band they've been fighting over for centuries, Arya stole one last glance at Gendry, to see him frozen on spot, staring at her disbelievingly, shaking with laughter.

"_Oi, Gendry_!"

She almost thought it wasn't her voice calling out to him. She really held nothing back, had she?

"_Yeah_?" he yelled back.

"_What's your age_?"

She heard his laughter before he finally shouted "_Nineteen_!"

"_TOO OLD_!"

His laughter followed her all the way to Dragonskull, the best place in the whole of King's Landing, underground, hard rock station.

**A/N** _Thought I'd see how this went. I love music. I love Gendrya. I don't have a nice family. I'm spilling my heart into this, and I hope it gets recognized. I'll try to upload every 5-7 days._


	2. the wilderness beyond her world

**A/N **Hi everyone! It's been a while, but I'm updating, and I hope you like this chapter, it has multiple POV's. I still haven't sorted out all the things you'll need to know as the basics of this story, but I'm trying to keep it below 5000 words in every chapter so I could keep this story going for a while. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this, I promise Arya would only be a sixteen yo girl for a chapter or two, and then we get to skip a few years!

**Summary**: _A drunken night out with Jon, Ygritte and Arya._

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything in this story but the modern setting. All the characters and references are based on G. R. R. M.'s works.  
**

**JON**

Even before they reached the stairs, the floor is vibrating and Jon's heart is pulsing in the rhythm from the underground. Slick walls of the old building with busted windows and graffiti on the wall appears right in front of them, and he tugs Ygritte on his left and Arya on his right to circle the building. There are people climbing down the stairs before them, but the entrance is free of charge and they don't wait long. The stairs are black and slimy, but the walls growing around them are dry and clean. The first level is booked with chairs and restrooms, a few snack shops and light. The second bellow is almost five times bigger than the first, reaching far over, dark, filled with tables and bars and a music podium, but most of all – people. The mass of bodies is everywhere, and Jon pulls the girls closer to him as they stumble and clash through the crowd. It takes them a few minutes to come to the nearest bar.

Ygritte was smiling and laughing and as soon as they climb the high chairs, she leant toward him and bit softly on his ear. Jon shuddered and caught her hair in his hand. Her eyes were half lidded and already dozing off, and Jon knew this was where she belonged. His Ygritte, by his side, in a loud group of rebellious musicians. Her eyes were filled with him as she drank in his eyes and lips, but her ears couldn't hear a word he'd say. She heard the music, she plucked it out between all the voices and noises, and that was what Jon loved about her.

He kissed her deeply, and she responded just as fully, but then he pulled away and told her to wait.

Arya, on his other side, looked too old.

He allowed her to come with them because he knew she's find another way to get in anyway. And then she'd be lost. This way, he kept her as safe as he could, but as he eyed the drink in her hand, already half empty, he knew there was only so much a man could do to keep Arya safe.

"How did they let you get one?" Jon shouted at her ear. "You're not even 17!"

He saw Arya snicker, although the drums were exploding and he couldn't hear her even from this short of a distance. She leaned in to answer. "I don't look it, brother!"

He cocked up his eyebrows, but then he understood. She really did look older. She looked even older than Sansa. Especially in this dark, with her thin face and hollow cheeks, darkness around her eyes not just from the makeup, and something in the way she laughed or smiled mysteriously. _She could coy anyone_, Jon thought.

Still, he shook his head. "You're paying it yourself! And if you even dare getting drunk I'm never speaking to you again!"

"Oh, Jon, I know!"

Ygritte drinks as fast as possible, but there's always a drink in her hand. Jon knew she probably plays a few guys to get a free drink, but he didn't care. She never asked him for anything but kisses and touches. And the way she looked at him when he followed her into the dancing crowd, the way he seemed to be the only thing she could see in her intoxicated state, was enough to let go of any jealousy.

She's a snake beneath his hands, and he hates the leather leggings she pulled on that day, and he hates the leather jacket she's wearing, and he feels like the king of the world when she takes it off to reveal a sleeveless top, low cut and all skin to skin when he pushes against her. Ygritte returns the favour of his kisses when she pulls off his button up shirt and leaves him in a black sweatshirt. She trails his shoulders and arms with her teeth and he gulps down his beer.

There was nothing as good as a drunk Ygritte.

**ARYA**

She slowly sipped her drink until Ygritte finally jumped from her stool. She had five drinks, and Arya thought this was the longest she got before pulling Jon into the crowd.

Then she smiled happily and pulled out Jon's wallet from her jacket. The guy was all too easy to steal from.

"ANOTHER!" she yelled at the bartender girl and the girl gave her a wicked grin. Arya sighed and stared at the girl as she handed her the drink.

"This one is on the house!" The girl winked and Arya laughed.

The girl was nice enough, slender, with a big bosom, long black hair and green eyes. Her lips were nice too, plum and red.

But as long as she's a big fan of good looking girls, Arya's never had a real attraction before, so she presumes she's pretty straight – for now.

She let the girl buy her two more drinks before slipping into the crowd in search for a closer view to the stage. She danced through the mass with her drink above her head, enjoying the soft level of dizziness coursing through her body. Just enough to feel light, like you're about to fly any second.

She barely made it to the fence surrounding the podium. She huffed and drank up before throwing the paper glass somewhere behind her. The guys on the stage were doing a pretty good job, but the singer/guitarist was getting a little red in his face. His skin looked like it was about to explode, and his voice was obviously straining. Arya sees it coming just two seconds before his voice broke on a note. Luckily, most of the people were there just to have fun, but she sadly shook her head as the singer picked up where he was and somehow (not very convincingly) makes it to the end of the song. Arya shrugged and clapped along with everyone else.

Just then, her eyes caught a sight of a young, tall, familiar man.

Her eyebrows almost disappeared beneath her hair at the surprise written over her face. She followed the man with her eyes as he paced around the stage until the band cleared out all the instruments. Then he climbed the stage and blue eyes caught the light Arya longed to see reflecting in them.

"Hello folks!" he says into the mic, and the girls beside her screamed crazily. Arya slowly pulled away from them as their voices called out to him.

Gendry pretended not to notice them and nervously wriggled with the mic cable. Arya wondered if anyone else could see his nervousness, as he kept his light smirk on, his voice steady, and everyone seemed to like him and yell that he's 'the man'.

She snorted and waited till the screaming lessened so he could continue with his words.

"We're having an open mic night! So any of you that want to sing or play or anything actually _can_ for a change, although not as easily. I'm going to have to ask you to come to backstage, where we'll check your voice or just a small verse on your instrument, before we let you climb up and ruin everyone's night."

She though he' saw her then, his eyes looking right at her, and he smiled wider, almost breaking in laughter. She frowned and he looked away. He's hot.

Arya did _not_ think that.

"So, enjoy your night and please don't waste our time if you're a voiceless, pointless, spoiled prick! Good night everybody!"

Everyone was laughing at his description of a singer that should not sing, and everyone knew who he meant by that. Arya hoped Joffrey wasn't somewhere in the crowd, else she was sure Gendry wouldn't be hot for long.

She watched him as he quickly jumped from the stage, not turning around even for a second. The reflectors blinked and pulsed for a moment before settling in a rhythm of blue lights. Arya squinted at the figures walking onto the stage. Four figures, all dressed in casual, rumpled clothes, and all four of them had holes on their left knees and white cloaks around their shoulders.

The leader, a green eyed young man with hair as black as coal and tumbling a little past his shoulders, all clean and shiny, screamed into the mike as the drummer started setting a fast pace, the guitar screaming long and high. Arya instantly recognized the song. It was one of the only songs her brother Robb recognized as good, although he followed his family leads in classical music.

Just before the chorus, the man raised one hand and shouted "Hi everybody, we're the _Kingsguard_ and we hope you're all enjoying your night!" and then he sang again in a husky, screaming voice – _Welcome to the Jungle_.

Arya laughed and smiled, jumping up and down and singing along. She hoped Jon wasn't too distracted with Ygritte's ass to notice the song and the actual well performance. She turned around, pointlessly, but there was no sign of anyone with black or red hair she knew belonged to her brother and friend.

The _Kingsguard_ played only three songs, and Arya was only slightly disappointed with their approach at '_Behind Blue Eyes'_, but was instantly cheered up when they rocked through '_Another Brick in the Wall'_, which wasn't an easy achievement.

Next were the _Starfell Lords_, and she bluntly acknowledged their good lead guitar before heading back to the bar, uninterested in their soft performance. They played two songs, '_Where the Wild Roses Grow'_ and '_Otherside'_. She enjoyed them both, but not enough to be patient for the end. She personally preferred '_Otherside'_ over any other _RHCP_ song, but had hoped the night would be an intense one. She wanted to feel adrenaline and vibrations in her heart, but the _Starfell Lords_ helped only the anxiety to kick in. It wasn't for any particular reason, but most of the songs had their own emotions which you couldn't fight if they were as loud as every single of them was in the Dragonskull.

Arya swirled around on her stool, leaning her elbows on the bar and gulping down her beer from the bottle. She hoped Jon would return soon, and while she enjoyed the various performances, she was getting a little bored. She smiled when the _Dothraki_ shook everyone up with '_Riders on the Storm'_, groaned when the Red Priestess sang _Nickleback's_ '_Rockstar'_ in a high pitched voice and wished Jon was there to share her impressions.

Soon enough, though, it was nearing quarter to eleven and Arya huffed in annoyance. She slammed the third empty beer bottle she had while sitting there and started to ask for another one when a hand slapped her back and a deep voice shouted over her ear "Two beers!"

The bartender girl cocked an eyebrow at the guy and then gave her a quick glance of disappointment (Arya had to stifle her drunken giggles at the girl's obvious intentions with her) before producing two bottles and taking the guys money.

"How come you're not on the stage?" Arya shouted at Gendry when he leaned onto the counter.

He smiled. "Not my thing."

"You don't play?"

"Aren't there enough of the musicians already?"

She ignored his answer as he ignored her question, and they both tugged on their drinks.

His cheeks were flushed from the heat and his hair was ruffled more than a bit, and she wondered whether it was just from his own stressed hands or some girl's assault.

Perhaps both.

"Do you play?"

Arya rolled her eyes and smirked. "Only Mozart."

He laughed and she gulped down more beer. If only she was being sarcastic. He didn't notice though. He was drumming his fingers in the rhythm and looking at the stage. The Red Priestess was just wrapping up her lame performance and Arya huffed, not having to yell as the music was over.

"Lamest performance ever."

Gendry looked over at her, quizzical brows perked up and his mouth opened lightly in surprise. "She seemed all right to me." He looked over the ground and nodded his head at them. "They all seem to like her, too."

"Just because she's dressed like a whore and can reach high notes doesn't make her a good singer. In fact, I haven't heard anyone ever make _Nickleback_ sound so bad." Arya clicked her teeth against the beer bottle in annoyance before taking a gulp.

"It didn't _sound_ like _Nickleback_. It was her version." Gendry shrugged and took his beer. "What's so wrong with that?" he took a big gulp and Arya caught herself staring at his jaw and neck. She shook her head, half in rejection at his words and half in tries to clear her mind. Gendry sat close to her and his scent was quite refreshing and sharp, so it wasn't quite easy to keep her mind straight and her thoughts pure.

"I'm not saying the remakes and varieties in performances are wrong. I'm saying _hers_ was wrong." Arya scoffed. Gendry laughed long and hard, until his laughter was muffled with the next performer – Viserys Targaeryen as _the Dragon Master_. Arya rolled her eyes and huffed in annoyance at both his artistic name and pointless songs. It wasn't of any band she was fond of. Gendry seemed neutral, although she thought the setting of his jaw was a little too tight not to be annoyed-like.

And there it was – her feeling appreciation at his looks. She wasn't like that! She wasn't like Sansa, she acknowledged good looking people but didn't bother with them enough to take even a second glance.

She downed her beer, feeling as irritated as ever, and jumped down from the stool. Gendry gave her a questioning look.

"Could've help you get down, milady." He mocked her and grinned. She shoved him in the shoulder, paid her drink and waved.

"I'll have you know, you'd be harmed in a way that would delete any chance of you having any offspring at what you just called me if I only weren't as tipsy as I currently am."

He laughed and inclined his head in a very polite, royal manner and she shoved him again seeing he was mouthing 'milady' again. Then she turned around and pushed into the crowd, determined in finding Jon and Ygritte.

Five minutes later, she still hadn't caught any glimpse of them and her time to go was nearing. Just as she was typing a message into her phone, about to virtually insult Jon with almost all the cuss words she knew, someone coughed into the mike and her blood cooled.

"I'm going to be short – my girlfriend is drunk and beautiful, and I'm not so sober myself. So here's a song to Ygritte and my sister, who's probably lost somewhere in the crowd."

Arya frantically pushed to the front rows, elbowing her way to the fence around the podium. "_JON FUCKING SNOW WHAT IS THIS?!_" she yelled as she leaned over the fence, but he didn't hear her.

With an electric guitar in his hand and Ygritte at the drums who was smirking wickedly, Jon cleared his throat and strummed the first chords of _Aerosmith's_ '_Walk This Way'_.

Arya mouthed 'what the hell', but the people seemed to love him, and the other guitarist seemed to have no problem fitting into Jon's playing and Ygritte's drumming.

She has never heard Jon sing so freely – she's never heard him sing anything different than humming along with soft notes detaching from his fast fingers. She was influenced greatly by everything he did, music especially, and the shock burst through her at this new, different Jon.

Jon sang without noticing any of the people before him, his eyes tightly shut and his neck straining.

The crowd roared, screamed and cheered. It was the best performance of the night.

For a moment, Arya's eyes wondered off her brother and she saw Gendry standing next to the podium, laughing and clapping. He held his thumbs up when Ygritte glanced at him and she laughed, ecstatically flinging the drumsticks in the air, pouncing her feet and head, looking happier than ever.

When Jon screamed one last time, the music blaring and stropping before his voice did, explosions of applauses were rubbing over the walls of Dragonskull, and Gendry ran up the podium, just as Jon took off his guitar, and the taller man clapped him on the back and yelled into the microphone.

"Jon Snow everybody, _JON SNOW_!"

**JON**

The streets were empty, dark and cold.

Ygritte held him around his waist, helping him walk. Arya was out of their reach, walking fast and stubborn with her hands on her chest, squeezed protectively. Gendry Waters walked behind them, carrying Jon's guitar and keeping himself silent.

Well, it wasn't really Jon's guitar, as his was back home safely tucked under his bed, out of Catelyn's sight, but apparently Jon was the winner of the unofficial battle that night, and had to take home his prize. He didn't feel sober enough even to take himself home, though, so Gendry has been there to help.

Jon groaned loudly at the ever persistent ache pulsing in his head. He drank too much, did too much, and had no strength to care at the moment. It would come back to him in the morning – that much he knew.

Ygritte was, for a change, keeping her mouth shut, but Jon knew she was smirking, proud and pleased.

His car was so far, and by the time they reached it, Arya was sitting on the hood, glaring at all of them.

"What _was_ that?" she spat angrily at Jon, jumping down from the car.

"Come on now, he was brilliant!" Gendry answered, coming to stand beside Jon. "Both of them, really."

Arya simply ignored him and pointed a finger at Jon. "You disappear, climb up the stage and take the freaking guts out of me and everyone else, no heads up, no nothing!" she threw her hands in the air, huffing. "And _now_ I'm late and you're still as drunk as possible, and except of the hangover, you'll also have your fucking _conscience_ to deal with in the morning – if you get to remember anything!"

Jon pushed away from Ygritte and straightened his back. He threw a glare at his sister. "Arya, shut up."

"How _dare_ you!" she screamed.

"You're not being rational!" Ygritte came to his defence. "He's been fucking amazing up there, and you should be glad for your brother!"

"I'm not saying he wasn't brilliant, I'm not saying I'm not glad, I'm saying he was wrong to act the way he did! I'm not sorry for him getting up there, but that was the only good thing about it!"

"Yeah? And what about Jon's wallet, what with that?" Ygritte poisonously asked.

Jon winced and quickly looked at Arya, who paled and shuddered. "Did you steal my wallet?"

"I only took 20 bucks, Jon."

Jon couldn't believe her, he stepped closer to her and yelled "That's not the point, you fool! What about trust? You're my sister, you're supposed to be loyal!"

"And so are you?"

"And what did he do, Arya?" Gendry scoffed from behind. Jon turned to look at him. The guy wasn't looking at him at all, just staring intently at Arya. "What exactly did he do to endanger you in any possible way?"

Arya's form slouched and she turned away from them all, opening the car door and slipping down to passenger's seat. Jon saw her shuffle and throw something on the backseat – his wallet.

Ygritte stared furiously at the girl for a moment before sighing and turning to touch Jon's shoulder. "Get in the car Jon, I'll drive."

"What with your car?" Jon asked, suddenly feeling exhausted. He was so angry with Arya, but his head really hurt and he was still drunk.

Ygritte shrugged. "I'll come back tomorrow."

"I could drive your car." Gendry proposed. When Ygritte glared at him, he added "Jon would come with."

"And why would you think I'd let you anywhere near my car?" Ygritte spat.

Gendry exchanged a frightened look with Gendry. "I, um, well… you do know me for three years. D'you really think I'd dare doing it any wrong?"

Ygritte was still glaring, and Jon knew she wouldn't give up. She was probably working out another good argument, and he really wasn't up for any more of them.

"You can drive my car." Jon said. Ygritte looked at him disbelievingly. "You can go home."

"I wouldn't really let you go back in this state." She told him. "You'd only find trouble."

He shrugged.

"Well, you could take him your place?" Gendry suggested. Jon frowned, but the guy didn't bother. "Your dad would be okay with it, Snow. And it'd keep you in less trouble then showing up your doorstep hammered."

"He's right, Jon." Ygritte said.

Jon huffed and waved his hand at the car, where Arya was leaning back, keeping her eyes shut, not hearing anything with the doors and windows closed. "I can't leave Arya alone."

"She wouldn't be. I kind of know where you live, and she'd show me the rest of the way. She'll be safe." Gendry assured him.

Jon sighed. "You know she's only sixteen, right?"

"I've been warned."

Running one hand through his wild hair, Jon gave up and, defeated, took Ygritte's hand in his own. "Take her away, then."

Gendry smirked. "Let me get you your wallet first."

**GENDRY**

Arya Stark was a funny little thing. She scowled and slouched in the seat for their whole ride home. When she finally spoke, it was an answer to his question about the band she put on playing.

"_Ramones_. Not _the Clash._ There's a huge difference."

Gendry knew exactly who they were, but it was the only thing he could ask to make sure she'd respond, even if in annoyance, so he wouldn't be forced to the awkward silence for the whole time.

"Which do you prefer more?" he asked again.

He felt her glare and shuffled awkwardly behind the steering wheel. He liked Jon's car – it was an old, though well kept, _Chevy_ model.

"Depends on the situation_. The Clash_ – they're simple quality and worth your time being spent only in listening to their music, but the _Ramones_ are an everyday thing."

"I prefer _Ramones_ only when I want to get really drunk. They keep a good company, and better atmosphere."

Arya stayed silent. He took it as the only way he could possibly be right in her opinion.

He was surprised when after five minutes she spoke up first.

"I'm not angry for him because he went up there and didn't tell me." She silently said.

When no other explanation came, Gendry frowned. "Why are you angry, then?"

"I don't really know if I'm really _angry_. I guess I'm a little disappointed."

Gendry worked through her words for a moment before guessing. "He took Ygritte up there."

Arya snorted, shaking her head. "She probably pushed him up or something."

"That's not my point – he didn't ask you to join him."

She stayed silent once again and Gendry let the matter go. He wasn't a part of their family. Intruding wouldn't do any of them any good. And he really appreciated Jon as his friend. He even thought Arya was quite all right, herself. Robb he didn't love very much, but respected the guy as he knew their friendship would never be unforced and very open. Robb didn't make friends a lot, and even less with people less than him.

"Where do I go now?" he asked after twenty minutes, and Arya softly instructed him back to her house, speaking clearly and just in time for him not to get confused. With her as his guidance, and the lack of silence, he finally relaxed and decided she wasn't bad at all. When he pulled the car into her driveway, he looked at her and noticed she was already looking at him. She looked younger than earlier – half of her makeup rubbed off in irritation, her eyes bigger and stormier in their natural look.

"What are you going to tell them?"

"Jon drove me back and then went with Ygritte. We were late because Ygritte lost her wallet. She found it, though, so everything's fine."

Gendry nodded and smiled.

"How are you going home?"

"By foot most probably." Gendry shrugged. "I like walking at night."

"I like walking all the time." Arya laughed and pulled open the door. "Thanks, honest Gendry. Take care."

He nodded and exited the car, throwing her the keys and walking away, turning around once more to see her softly bang her head against the entrance door. She hesitantly pulled the knob and he decided he wouldn't intrude her privacy anymore. He turned around once more and walked into the night.

**CATELYN**

She woke up when Ned started shouting.

Rubbing at her eyes, the only woman in the house softly slipped into her robe and slippers, pulling the fabric tightly around her body as she descended the stairs.

"Could you keep it down, please?"

Ned and Arya looked thunderstruck when Catelyn peered through the kitchen door, holding onto the knob. Her husband was standing in front of her daughter, who sat at the table, and both looked angry. Arya was all rumpled and covered in guilt and Catelyn remembered how she looked scared when her mother made her promise she would try to come a little earlier that night – for her father's sake.

The woman glanced at the clock and sighed tiredly. It was past midnight.

"When did you come home, Arya?" Catelyn asked.

"About a half an hour ago. I really couldn't come any earlier." The girl said.

Ned was slightly shaking with rage.

"Arya." Catelyn strongly said. The girl looked up with, thankfully, a pinch of fear in her dark eyes. "You wouldn't think so little of me that you'd believe I wouldn't notice Jon and his car gone?"

Arya froze and Ned looked up at his wife in surprise. He most probably hadn't noticed anything off. After all, Jon never came to be with them during family dinners. Catelyn like that tradition. She was sorry for the child, but she would never be able to look at him in anything but honest disliking.

"Mother, I – "

"You _nothing_. What happened, Arya?"

Arya shortly glanced at her father before answering hesitantly. Ned was still mad, his arms tightly crossed over his chest. But now he looked positively puzzled, and Catelyn knew he would give their daughter a chance to explain her behaviour.

"We – we went… with Ygritte… she, she lost her wallet and we had to look for it! I am really sorry, and we _have_ found it, but it took us some time to find our way back to each other and then – and then it was already 11 or so, and that's it." Arya grumbled. She was now looking somewhere beside her mother's head, who started rubbing at her chin.

"You know I do not approve of those things. You are grounded for next two weeks – no going out, no nothing. And no morning guitar lectures for a month!"

"But mom!" Arya groaned and moaned.

"Arya." Her father warned her through gritted teeth. "Behave. Your mother is right. Where were you anyway?"

"I was somewhere with Jon and Ygritte, all right?"

"No, not all right!" Ned shouted, pointing one finger at her. "You told me you'd go to a party with your friends! You lied to me, and once someone lies to me, I tend to lose all my trust in them. Even if they're my very own children!"

Arya stared at ned unblinkingly. "I just wanted to get out a bit." She whispered.

"Where, Arya?" Catelyn impatiently said. "Where did you go with them?"

Arya looked guiltier than ever. Her shoulders slouched and her teeth gnawed onto her lip. "We went to King's Landing." Arya shifted uncomfortably on her chair. "To Dragonskull."

Catelyn let out a long, shuddering breath and pressed her eyes tightly shut for a moment – her biggest fear for Arya was coming true. Her daughter was straining away from them. She wasn't listening, wasn't behaving, she didn't do anything properly.

Catelyn stumbled on her way up the stairs and before she reached the top, she heard Ned calling after her silently. "_Cat_?"

She turned around, holding herself up by the wall.

"Are you all right?"

But Catelyn just shook her head firmly. "Talk to her. Scream at her. I don't care. Just get it out of her."

"What?"

Catelyn gave her loving, kind husband a strong, sharp look of pure Tully ice. "I said: do not let our child become a wildling."

And with that, Catelyn Stark turned around and left.

**A/N** _That's it for now, mates. Any requests for the future parts are free to go into the reviews or my messenger. And I'm sorry, but without 3 more review at least, I'm not uploading._

_Oh, and, if any of you have read my other Gendrya story, Winter is ours and Fury is coming, I want you to know I'll upload in 10 hours the most._

_Bye now, thanks!_


	3. no point in delaying

**A/N**_ This had been written in less than two hours, and it's long and most certainly overflown with typos and grammar errors. I'm really sorry, but I don't have time to reread and edit. Read and review!_

**Summary**: _Hold on for a bit, and you'll find yourself leaping into Gendrya's future (kind of)._

**Disclaimer: I own nothing (and Jon Snow knows nothing – I'd reckon we'd make a brilliant couple!)**

**ARYA**

She loved Bach when she was little. She adored the easy flow of his compositions and his clever way of subtly filling the empty air with only the simplest of verses. He was never as hard to play as Mozart or Beethoven (not that she had anything against those two). As she grew, Bach started to bore her. But then again, classics all in all were starting to annoy her. She hated spending hours at the piano, hated the guidelines in music she was forced to follow, she hated the precise manner of positions and movements – she hated rules. She wanted freedom. Every once in a while, she would sit at the piano on her own, play a softer, easier song or just sit and stare at the keys and she would finally enjoy the musical presence.

When Jon started teaching her how to play the guitar, and even when she skipped through rock songs on her laptop, she felt better. She started appreciating music even more. She knew how to enjoy it better than uneducated listeners. She was grateful even in states of annoyance, but when she was all alone, free to even softly chant to herself or sing loudly in the empty house, she was the happiest.

"Arya?"

Her father found her in Jon's room that morning.

Jon lived in the basement, transforming it into a kind of alternative music heaven, with vinyl records hung on the walls and shelves, his three guitars, two acoustic and one electric on the black leather couch Arya didn't dare to come close to since the time she accidentally walked into her brother and his girlfriend half naked on it. Mostly frightened for her sanity and scarred with traumas for the rest of her life, she still felt a small pinch of amusement at their position – Ygritte on top, of course.

"What are you playing?" her father's voice rang through the empty space.

"Nothing, really." she was just strumming the few tones in what seemed a compatible line.

Ned came to stand beside her where she was sitting in Jon's chair, holding his guitar – the bad one (it wasn't really bad, it was just very old and shabby and that was why Arya preferred it). "It sounds nice. It's not one of Jon's songs, is it?"

Arya gave him an irritated glare. It was early morning, and Jon was still at Ygritte's. Her father looked like he had also just woken up, but she was up since 6 AM. She knew her mother wouldn't allow her playing that day. "You always call them 'Jon's songs'. First of all, they're not his, they're famous artists' songs, and second of all – if they're his all right, they're mine, too. I listen to that type of music as much as he does."

Ned inclined his head, having been smart enough to look at least a little bit guilty. "I'm sorry. I wasn't aware of this."

"Well, you should be. Because that's the music I like too, dad."

She wasn't sure whether she meant that in 'Jon likes it and I LIKE IT TOO!' way or in 'I like classical music but I LIKE THIS TOO' way. She wasn't sure she would be able to tell her father the truth if she knew it. She wouldn't ever want to disappoint him.

"I know. It's only natural. You're evolving and – "

"I'm not _evolving_, dad!" she huffed. "This isn't a phase and it isn't just a random teenager drama I'm trying to get attention by. I'm really in love with this kind of music and it makes me as happy as damned Chopin makes Sansa happy!"

Ned stared at her with a scrutinizing look for a few moments.

"Your mother thinks you shouldn't practice _this kind of music_."

Arya stared back up at him, holding the guitar tightly with her hands. "I am very sorry for my mother. Maybe she should lock me up down here, too."

"_Arya_!"

She lowered her gaze at the guitar and adjusted her elbow on its side top. She defiantly avoided speaking up again, no matter how wrong her father said her behaviour was. There was something lacking in his own behaviour, and that was what gave her strength to ignore his attempts in making her see the right.

When he finally left, she sighed and returned to playing the melody that had her mind boiling for the whole morning.

She sat and played and perfected almost all of the melody, barely conscious of the time passing by, as she lingered in her little reality of music and creation. She was still playing when Jon stumbled in and crushed her beneath the weight of his arms on her shoulders, pressing down of her and trembling. She felt the guitar drop along with his words, unshed tears in his eyes. His hold on her was loosening when she caught him in her embrace as his legs started tumbling down. She was there around him, cradling him as he shook and repeated his girlfriend's name.

"Jon?" she cried as he started slipping from her grasp.

"Ygritte…" he said again. "Ygritte…" his eyes found his sister's and he shuddered. "Ygritte is dead."

They slipped down to the floor together, tangling bunch of limbs and heat of their bodies and cold in their hearts. She held him when he couldn't cry, wouldn't. She held him as he tried to stop drowning in a sweep of remorse and sadness and despair.

Arya was his sister, after all. She wouldn't let him suffer alone. So she cradled her big brother and ran her fingers through his hair, whispering 'so sorry' and 'Jon I love you' all the time.

Their father was the first to find them and leave them at peace and less peace than possible.

**4 years later**

**SANSA**

There was no point in delaying the unescapable.

Sansa sighed and tugged her purple skirt down, fixing and straightening the already flawless fabric on her skin. She picked her clothes with most delicate attention, and although she had done all the numbers and ran all the possibilities, everything seemed utterly wrong, now that she was supposed to step out and bring her best out in the light.

She sighed again and stepped into the small, barely clean bathroom. She splashed water over her trembling, cold hands; that would not do – her fingers had to be compliant, submissive, relaxed. But as she skimmed her fingers through the hair on her back, combing the already perfect locks, her eyes looked half defeated, half horrified. The blue was as light as possible, her pupils small inside. Her face was even paler than usual, her perfect, symmetric, crescent eyebrows frowning. Her lips were a small thin line, and not even the beautiful, faint rosy gloss could made them look anything but white.

Calm yourself, she kept repeating. It's no big deal – you've had public performances before.

This is different – she kept responding out loud, although as quiet as a breeze.

She's never had a performance all for herself, without anyone beside her or in the background. She never played in front of so many people as there were right outside of the backstage.

No point in delaying, she thought again. What happens will happen anyway, and she just had to do her best.

Determination washed her over as she stepped back and forward. She would go out there, and play through the night like it was the last thing she would ever do.

Lights were blinding, the crowd was roaring.

She knew it was all fake – lights were not as strong at all, the people were hushed, only whispering and throwing her expectant glances and smiles. She kept her head up high, her shoulders back, her smile polite and relaxed. She wouldn't allow the storm she felt to be felt by everyone else.

Look for your family, she thought. They will calm you.

What she saw wasn't calming at all.

Her parent's seats in the front row were empty. Jon sat in the second row, just behind their supposed spots, and Robb, his fiancé Jeyne, Rickon, Jory, Margaery, Loras, Renly and Willas all there. But Bran's seat was empty, too.

Just as she thought the smile was going to fade from her face once again, she settled in the chair at the piano forte, massive, glistening black beast, she looked back at her family's faces and saw what she had missed the first time. Or rather,

Who.

She never thought the sight of her younger sister was make her feel as happy as she was currently feeling. She never thought she would witness the pride and excitement on Arya's features. She never thought she would have to stifle her thrilled laughter at the sight of those grey, usually so cold, now so bright and alive eyes. Arya cocked one eyebrow up and grinned, holding her thumbs up.

Sansa hadn't had the privilege of time to marvel at the way her sister's face had changed in almost 4 years they were apart, so she left it boiling in the back of her mind, as she placed her now completely eager fingers upon the piano keys and smiled softly, only for herself, knowing it would all go well.

She was supposed to play Mozart first – she had practiced everything in perfect order for almost the whole year.

Screw Mozart, she thought, he was long dead and wouldn't mind a little bit of family affection crawling into the plan, and she started off with a composition that brought her and her sister's hearts a little closer.

She loved the music even more when it was by her choice, for someone's pleasure.

"I didn't think you could still play that without notes."

"I didn't think you would show up so suddenly. It was an unexpected, very welcome surprise."

Arya laughed. "Bet that was why you had to make one on your own."

Sansa smiled fondly through the tears and gathered Arya's slight form in her embrace. Her sister's arms enveloped her just as eagerly, if not even a little painfully.

"Brilliant." Arya whispered on Sansa's ear. "Simply brilliant, you were."

Sansa clutched her sister closer to her heart and smile into her unruly, dark curls. "I'm so glad you're back."

Ned and Catelyn arrived a minute into Sansa's outstanding performance, and her little brother came along, too. There was a knack, though.

Bran Stark had an accident when he was only 10 years old, and the fatal event kept him locked to his wheelchair still. He was now 17 years old, thin, pale, with handsome facial features and a skilled, highly intellectual mind.

He was another surprise that evening.

When Sansa and Arya finally distangled from their embrace, she looked at the rest of her family: Robb and Jeyne, side by side, pride evident on their faces; her little brother Rickon, so very excited for his sister, even in his young eleventh year. Behind them, stood her friends: Margaery, Loras, Renly and, oh, dear, her wonderful, kind Willas. She moved her eyes away from his wonderful gaze and looked at her parents, with Bran between them. Only, she thought they had somehow, inexplicably forgotten his chair, and were holding him up – but then she saw the tears in her mother's eyes, and the finally easy look on her father's face (the man hadn't looked relaxed for years) and she noticed there was a reasonable distance between her parents and brother.

"Bran…" she gasped. He towered over her, with his 17 years, and stood without a hunch in his back, without crutches in his hands, supporting himself on his father's shoulder with one hand to keep his legs from trembling – but he was still standing, proud of himself and of his sister.

"You were remarkable, sister." He said softly and reached for her – it was an instinct to rush to him, and instinct she developed since the incident – whenever Bran reached for her, she would be there in instant. No was the same – yet, so different.

The happy tears in her eyes swelled until there was no point in her eyes at all, she saw nothing but misty shape of her brother as she tucked him in her embrace – or maybe, it was him who held her inside his arms. "Bran!" she laughed and gasped and cried, and the tears were so many and so huge she thought she might never stop crying. But oh, it felt wonderful.

Bran squeezed her tightly, comfortingly, shaking slightly from laughter, too. She wondered if anyone else was crying (she knew her mother was).

She might have felt a pang of guilt, just then – maybe even a pang of jealousy, and maybe just a bit of anger. She hadn't been with Bran on his therapies for a long time – she hadn't seen his first steps – she wasn't aware of how well he had progressed and her parents never told her how soon he would be able to walk again.

Later, she was told it was a kind of a gift and a surprise to all of them but Ned and Catelyn, and Sansa's negative feelings retreated, giving place for even more happiness.

**JON**

"How are you doing?" Arya suddenly appeared behind him on the porch. He sighed and laughed.

He had been celebrating with his family for almost three hours since they returned from Sansa's show. He had been acting happy, proud, excited, emotional, and all the rest that came to witnessing someone's special night. Of course, he had to put in double effort into his behaviour, since both Sansa and Bran were having that night.

It wasn't that he hadn't felt happy and proud of them and overly excited for his siblings, it was just that it was hard to show all of those with still feeling terribly hard negativity beside all of those. He could have broken down and cried and showed them it was from all of the happiness he felt, but then, he feared, he would have kept weeping for all that was wrong in their lives. And he hadn't cried in years, not even after Ygritte died, and he promised himself he would be stronger than that.

Arya's arrival was a nice surprise, a support and a happy spot for Jon. But with her presence came the questions he knew would burst from her as soon as possible.

He hoped it could have been the day after or at least in the morning.

He drank too much wine to keep his distance from emotions and short answers.

And there she was, standing beside him, all grown up and stern faced. He thought she would grow to become softer than she used to be, he had thought she would come to learn a few things and cherish the warmth of smiles on her own and everyone else's faces.

But he was wrong.

Arya's eyes filled up with even more of the winter that cursed through her family's veins. Her eyes became even darker than his own, than his father's. Her cheekbones so pronounced he thought that was something all of the girls, and especially Sansa, be jealous of. Her skin as fair as snow covering Winterfell's grounds. Her hair a long, wild mess of curls and locks. Her neck seemed longer than before, and her whole appearance seemed like a woman's rather than a girl's. He supposed she was a woman, now, after all.

"I'm fine. Arya. Really." He scoffed at her. "I should be asking you that question, you're the one that's been half the world away for four years. Winterfell doesn't change. And you obviously have."

"Jon, really." she sighed impatiently. That was one of her traits that neither he or their father possessed. Catelyn was certainly not as openly impatient, at least. But Arya… she had something different than the steady, firm winter-like patience. She had a snowstorm within her, rather than ice cage. "I've been there where it's hot and peachy, I've learnt a lot of things, some you would not be able to learn in the north, and it was, all in all, a brilliant experience that I do not want to repeat. I'm not made for hot sun and beaches and the noisiness of the oversea lands. I burn in the sun, and I wish to cut everyone's throat when they make so many, useless and loud noises. I want you to tell me, how are you doing?"

He looked at her long and hard, trying to decipher the biggest difference in her since he last saw her.

Agility. No, that wasn't it… was it… wisdom? No, she's always had that, it was just different with that childish thirst for proving herself. Maybe it was experience. Hard experience. Maybe that's what made her eyes looked like ice blocks. Or maybe it was also this weird type of strength, different than the one their father possessed. Arya was like a raw piece of steel before. She was so strong, yet too sharp on the edges, with visible flaws and dents and too harmful for even those she didn't want to hurt. And easier to break than the steel she's become.

She was like a blade, now… no, blades are too easy to break.

She was like a hammer.

Yes, that was exactly what his not so innocent, little sister had become.

"I'm having a hard time with Catelyn. It's been like that ever since you left." He finally said, defeated and cornered. He moved back to sit on the porch bench. She settled beside him after two short seconds. He leaned down, twisting his hands in between his knees. She watched him, completely still as she leaned back in the bench, her hands crossed on her chest. "Job's same as always. We have a new boss, though. He's all kinds of crazy and twisted, and I doubt I'd be able to have much progress with this one in charge. I'm thinking about finding a new job, but the guys… I'd be too sorry to leave them, and as we all have little time anyway, it'd be next to impossible to hang out if I worked somewhere else." He makes a short stop, twisting his way of thoughts, avoiding the unavoidable – the biggest problem. He continues with less tough subjects. "Father's been having some extra tension lately, too. I reckon it's good you're back, not only for me, Sansa and Bran, but for him and the rest, too. You left too quickly, too unexpected. Uh…" It started getting harder, one face, misty with time gone by, looming in his vision. He think there's a small choke in the next words as they spill out. "The band is good. They're really good, I mean, we are. I'm not the vocal, though, we've got a good lad for that. Gendry plays, too, you remember Gendry, right?" she nods her head. "Well, we've gotten a bit closer in the last few years. He's a good lad, clever one at that. Got some problems of his own."

Then there's silence. "Jon…"

"I don't think I can talk about her yet." He blurts out. "About Ygritte." It's completely unnecessary mentioning her name.

"It's been four years, Jon."

"All the same." He shrugged. "For so long I stayed quiet and now, suddenly, I'm supposed to rant."

"It's all right, Jon."

Jon felt his sisters hand rub over his shoulder. He leaned into her touch and she scooted closer, enveloping him inside her hug, so much like that horrible day 4 years ago.

With his head on her shoulder, they talked about Braavos and Winterfell, what was different and new, what they like or disliked, and then they talked about Harrenhal and it turned out Jon hadn't stepped a foot into that place without Ygritte.

"Now that's just bollocks, Jon." Arya scolded him. "You think she'd be touched? You think that's the way she mourn you? Like hell – listen, I bet she'd kick your arse if she knew how you acted!"

Jon laughed lightly. "I bet she would."

"I bet I will, if you keep on doing nothing." Arya warned him.

Then it became obvious – Arya grew up, once and for all, the child in her replaced with a young, but still, woman. She was the one calming him down, making him laugh, and Jon felt a weird combination of nostalgia (for her younger version, since he really hated the fact that he had missed four years of her life), delight (because she was finally back with him, and he didn't think she was going back to Braavos) and, strangely, remorse.

With her swift, long fingers gently threading his hair, her voice saying things she knew would make him feel good, Arya, in that moment, reminded him of what having a mother would feel like.

But had he not been there for her like this, too? Hadn't he comforted her all of those many times she would bicker with her parents? He doubted she felt like he was her father, then.

But then again, unlike him, Arya truly had both father and mother.

And then she said something, and he laughed, and forgot about the dilemma.

"Sansa, please! Come on, you've never been there, you've never seen it! How can you know it's so bad?"

"Arya, my sweet little sister," Sansa said, almost impatiently, "I know what you prefer. And it is black, intoxicated, loud and all in all completely… out of my range. You go, and have fun, I'll go out with Margaery and Loras."

Jon saw Arya huff and surrender, throwing her arms around Sansa for the last time before striding toward him, all determined and excited. Sansa smiled at Jon, and he smiled back, before he too turned around, and as Arya caught up with him, left the house and went toward his car.

As they settled down, buckling with their seatbelts, Arya started humming some melody, and when Jon started the car, she turned on the music, easily picking through his CD collection and turning it on with a practiced hand.

"Would you like to call your band mates?" Arya asked him. "I wouldn't mind meeting them, and if you'd like to spend some time with them there, too, you know, to feel better – "

"Arya, no." Jon stopped her and gave her a sideways glare before looking back at the road. "I haven't seen you in four years, and I wouldn't change you for anyone – just for tonight, I'm sure you'll get on my nerves soon enough."

She laughed and smacked his arm. "Shut up!"

He ignored her and only grinned. "Besides, half o' the boys is there already."

"What, they're not playing without you or something, are they?"

He shook his head. "They just go there almost every night. Good music, irritating, stupid people which they love to annoy. Good people. People they don't know. And, of course, Gendry works there half the time."

"I thought he had a job with you!"

"He does. He just helps out sometimes, since his sister works there as a waitress and she's complained how it sometimes gets impossible to be everywhere that's needed. Ever since then, he jumps in whenever the crowd gets thick."

Arya stayed silent, and he looked away from the road and at her to see what she was thinking. She had a frown on her face, and all in all, looked surprised, not necessarily pleasantly.

"Does he at least get paid?"

"Not as much as the lot of them, but yeah, he gets his share."

She kept her thoughts to herself for a while, and, if he still knew her and she hadn't changed so impossibly much, he knew she would spill them out soon enough.

"It's too generous and too naïve. He could've pulled out some more for his own better, most certainly."

Jon laughed. "Oh you silly thing, not all of us do things and try to do them for ourselves. He's doing this for his sister and he doesn't care if anything comes out of it for him."

"That's bloody demented."

Jon laughed merrily and messed up Arya's hair with one hand, aiming for her head perfectly.

Not that it mattered much – Arya's hair had grown, of course, and it was one of the first things he had noticed about her when she came back. Her hair now skipped practically all the way down her back stopping an inch or two before the small of her back.

It was as wild as always, but didn't look quite as spikey. It shone like silk under the moonlight and, all in all, suited Jon's little sister perfectly.

He knew she wasn't against long hair, just like she wasn't really against dress codes and fashion and makeup. Arya actually took some pride in her hair, before she had to cut it after she got it accidentally half-cut in a fight. The boy who did it was still doing social service for bringing scissors into fight. She didn't have any typical sense of fashion, or felt burdened to be approved by the sociality. She liked wearing clothes she liked or felt comfortable or just good in. She was simple. She did things for herself, not for others.

Well, maybe she disliked dress codes a bit.

Because, why wouldn't she wear a PJ's at someone's wedding?

Oh, right, because of a dress code.

"Arya, wait."

She twirled around and approached him, seeing as he hadn't moved a foot from the car.

She pried his hands away from the car door and tried to pull him away from the car a bit.

"No, it's not that – thank you, but I'm fine, it's just…" he sighed.

She looked like she knew he what he was nervous about.

"You've always got that face right before you tell me something, something like a secret."

He grunted and kicked the dirt with his foot. "You know how Ygritte and I used to smoke behind Dragonskull, and how we even gave you a chance to try, but then we stopped, together..?"

"Yes, Jon, I remember all of the crisis you two had, and all of the places in the house you've shagged on." She looked smug when his cheeks reddened and his eyes fell to floor. "I haven't touched one of them ever since."

"Well…"

"What you mean to tell me is that you started smoking again, right?"

He looked up at her, feeling shameful, when his eyes locked on her and his heart practically stopped.

With her long, wild hair slowly swaying on her back, her body completely covered in black and leather and her face without any trace of makeup, still as sharp and strong and cold as guitar's song, Arya stood with one leg drumming in inaudible rhythm, with a cigarette between her fingers and smoke on her lips.

"We've all got some regrets, Jon." She told him threw him a pack of unopened cigarettes. "But smoking isn't one of mine."

He raised his eyebrows up at her, holding up the pack she threw him. "What's this for?"

"I smelled it on you, the smoke. And I thought you wouldn't dare bringing your own cigarettes if you were to go out with me tonight, so I had a backup."

He looked at her in disbelief, trying to calm his inner boiling of emotions which mostly screamed 'rageragerage'. Her eyes were soft, ones of melted ice, and he thought he could never feel so much compassion, love and anger toward one person in the same time.

"Come on, Jon." She softly said. "I'm twenty years old. And, so I swear on the love I bear for you, I haven't touched alcohol or cigarettes in Braavos until I was older than eighteen. Also for you."

He wanted to say something to her – to give her a piece of his mind, whether in anger, compassion, understanding – but his mind was blocked and there was no sound coming from his mouth.

When his sister pulled on his elbow again, he followed.

**GENDRY**

He saw Jon just that morning while they fixed a black Mercedes for a wealthy costumer; he saw Arya four years ago when they buried Ygritte's torn body.

And now, at almost midnight, he saw them together for the first time in four years, and felt like he hadn't seen either of them for just as long.

There was something lost in Jon after Ygritte died, but only now, with Arya on his hand, had he looked complete and calm again. And Arya, oh Arya, the woman she had grown into… Gendry wouldn't have recognized her if the woman hadn't been standing so near to Jon that the Bull could place their facial similarities into recognition.

They stepped into Dragonskull with their hands firmly clasped, like two pieces of puzzle they were; Gendry had an odd sensation one couldn't separate them with a knife in that moment.

They were almost the same height (Arya had grown noticeably in the years that passed), towering over the crowd only with their cold, grey eyes.

They both wore black, their hair similar in colour, although Arya's wild hair was longer than Jon's. Where she was all sharp cheekbones and arched, invincible bows of her eyebrows, her brother had beard covering his square jaw. The tandem stepped into the underground and brought a chill of respect and fear into the eyes of anyone near. There was something about their movements; although they both stepped through the crowd with their backs straight and head proudly put in the air, what gave them most of the power was how similarly they moved, like they never parted from each other since birth.

Gendry himself, the strong Bull, the feared, tall, broad man with a long list of interesting fights and incidents on his reputation, felt the same chill as everyone, and the intimidation the siblings spread over the place.

But then, he saw Arya. He truly saw her – he knew she was the wolf as much as he was the bull in the global mind of the society, but he was surprised to see her change over the years. She was beautiful. She was fierce. She was damn hot and Gendry hated Jeyne in that moment for trying to get his attention with her taps on his arms and giggling on his ear.

It didn't take long for Jon to notice him and direct himself and his sister toward the Bull.

They sat next to him and Jon reintroduced his best friend and sister. "Gendry, this is my sister Arya, she's been away for a while. Dunno if you remember her."

Arya laughed and grinned like a wolf, tilting her head to a side as she looked at Gendry. "Haven't changed a bit, Bull."

He hadn't known where she had gotten his nickname if she hadn't been here for so long, but he went along with it. "Can't say the same for you, wolf-girl."

She just laughed again and Jon gave Gendry a questioning, warning look.

_Right – that was his sister_. Then he remembered how affectionate Jon was toward his sister. _His _little_ sister._

Gendry cleared his throat and looked up at the stage, where the somewhat regular performer was singing one of her most popular songs.

He heard a snort and looked for its source only to see Arya's grimace while she watched the red Priestess. "Can't believe she's still around. And they let her sing, even worse!"

"She's not so bad." Gendry shrugged. Arya glared. Jon took a sip of his beer.

"She sounds like a dying – " she scrambled for the right word and Gendry wanted to propose the usual – cat, when she burst "- GOAT!"

Jon snorted and spilt beer he was drinking, coughing through his laughter as Gendry hit him repeatedly on the back, laughing himself.

Then Jeyne spoke up – right, Jeyne was still there on his side, still persistent in her efforts to get somewhere with Gendry.

"She's got a good pitch and people think she's hot – what more would you expect from a regular performer?"

Wrong thing to say, Gendry thought when Arya disgustingly repeated: "_Regular_?"

Jon was shaking his head, Gendry sighed and Jeyne eagerly nodded her head, like she was thrilled to enrage the dark girl.

"Ugh." Arya said and downed her beer.

Gendry watched Jon as he followed his sister's drink disappear into her body. Jon's eyes were squinted and he looked somewhere between disapproval and pride. "Slow down with that."

"It's beer, dear Jon, you should see me with a nice tequila."

It was Gendry's turn to laugh at Jon's painful grimace. Arya soon joined in and shook her head, saying she was only joking. Her brother groaned and muttered, "I don't know if I can trust you anymore.".

"'ay Gendry, wanna go dance?" Jeyne asked when the song ended.

Gendry tightened his grip on his beer and found himself staring up at cold, amused, grey eyes.

Arya's mouth quirked up in the corners and she cocked one eyebrow up, and Gendry was having a hard time deciding whether to stare at her huge, dangerous eyes or her mocking, inviting lips.

The Bull said "No." in a cold, husky voice and tugged on his beer, while Jeyne gingerly moved away from them, Jon chuckled and Arya laughed on top of her lungs.

Jon was off to the bathroom and Arya was looking at him with her eyes hazy from the alcohol, a cigarette in her hand. The waiter warned her smoking wasn't allowed inside, and she smirked and tilted her head. "Come?"

Gendry nodded and followed her lead when she jumped from the stool, walking forth without looking back for him.

"Where were you?" he asked, his words mixing with smoke.

"Braavos." She responded briskly, looking up at the sky and taking a long drag. He thought there was something weirdly attractive about the way her cheeks pulled in when she tugged on her cigarette. Her long fingers looked white in the moonlight, and her eyes were so pale they were almost white, too.

Gendry had drank a lot, more than on his usual drinking nights (which he tried to make as rare as possible), and had no restraint when he took one of her long locks between his fingers, examining it and twirling it around his fist.

"How many years?" he asked, although he already knew. Well, he knew when he was sober.

"Four." She responded. She was watching his face while he watched her hair beneath his fingers. "And I haven't had a haircut once in all those years."

He let the hair slip through his fingers. He took a long inhale of his cigarette before noting "Shows."

She chuckled. "It's quite impractical, really."

Gendry nodded and smirked. "I wonder how Jon makes it."

Arya laughed; Gendry was proud to make her laugh.

"Do you come here often?" she asked him. The cigarette had fallen from her hand and he was throwing his down, too.

He gave her a long, scrutinizing look. His voice was lower than usual when he said: "Do you plan to stay here?"

There was that twinkle of wolfish amusement in her eyes again; not a ghost of smile on her small, kissable lips, but a mocking laughter in her grey orbs. She breathed out a simple "Yes."

He nodded his head and looked up at the stars. "Good." He said. "And yes."

She was smiling when she told him it was time to go back, and when they sat next to Jon once again and she greeted her brother with a squeeze on his shoulder, she turned to Gendry and smiled again.

And he was smiling, then, and for the whole damn night.

**ARYA**

She was back to piano for the last two months since she had come back, since Sansa had her brilliant performance that bloomed over few very popular media, and since she had met Gendry again.

"You got better." Catelyn said from the door.

Arya stopped playing and retracted her hands to her lap; she only noticed her mother leaning on the doorway when she had spoken.

"I've been practising in Braavos."

"It shows." Her mother said, a soft smile on her lips. "Those melodies are new, too."

She wondered how long her mother had been watching her – she's been playing Braavos' signature, folk songs for almost two hours.

"I practiced those, too."

Catelyn nodded.

Arya waited, sitting upright and still, uncomfortable under her mother's piercing eyes. her mother was always tall and willowy, and although years made her face less outstanding and beautiful, there was something about the colour of her eyes that made them seem more beautiful than ever. It was as if all the winters her mother had lived through in her life had somehow each had an effect in those blue eyes. Arya often envied her mother and all the siblings that had her eyes, but took huge pride in her own startling, cold, Stark eyes. she might have thought the Tully's blue was a more beautiful one – but she never regretted her inheritance and loved how much of the Starks' she had in herself.

Finally, her mother sighed and parted from the wall – she stepped back a bit, still supporting herself on the door with one hand. "The Tyrells, Baratheons and uncle Edmure are coming for dinner tonight. Dress properly – and watch your behaviour. I swear, the south had made you even more of a wildling than you already were."

But the words were said in a soft, motherly tone, and Arya smiled as her mother walked away.

The grin was soon wiped off her face, as the words took place in her mind – _dress properly_.

"Sansa!" she shouted. Then she took off to her sisters room in a bolt, running up the stairs in a fairly fast pace for her own height.

"Sansa!" she said as she jerked open her sister's door.

The perfectly symmetrical, square, lightly coloured room was also perfectly empty. The big, queenly bed in the middle was tidied up as well as the rest of the room. Arya grunted to herself and went to the window, hoisting herself up on the board. She leaned back into the glass and pulled her phone out of the pocket.

Her sister picked up after only two beeps. "Hello?" Sansa's voice was high and cheerful, like she had been laughing before answering the phone. "Arya?"

"I'm in your room – where are you?"

Sansa sighed over the line and responded in a tone Arya knew very well – the one that meant 'you're bloody irresponsible and of course you would forget everything important, while I'm perfectly scheduled and know-it-all'. "I'm out, shopping with Margaery. You wouldn't think I'd forget the big dinner tonight, would you?"

Arya grunted unintelligibly. "S'ppose I have, though."

"And you want my help?"

Oh, Sansa wouldn't be Sansa if she hadn't sounded smug saying that, would she now? "Yes, Sansa darling, I'm barely able to dress myself every day, how would you expect me to wear something our mother would approve of tonight?"

"Well, _Arya dear_," Sansa sounded self-pleased. "Is it not simply remarkable that you have me to help out?"

Arya inhaled and exhaled, barely containing herself from saying something in annoyance when she would regret it later.

"Oh, don't be so grim! Come over, Margaery would be delighted to help, too, and since the two of us are already here, you won't be bothered with the long wait you usually suffer before we go anywhere, as I take a while to prepare."

There was an unsaid 'You're the one that should take the same amount of time to prepare, too, though', but Arya simply went over it and replied that she would be there in a matter of minutes. Sansa told her the mall they were in – Arya was unsurprised; even after all these years, she knew by heart all the places Sansa loved for shopping.

"On my way. Do you need anything?"

"Well, I'm sure Jon forgot his lunch pack as always, so if you would get that, we could visit him after the mission." Sansa answered. Arya was happy with her sister – Sansa wasn't always as warm toward Jon, as she didn't like his taste in personal job, girlfriend and music. But ever since Ygritte died, Arya was getting positive updates from both her older siblings on how well they started treating each other. She didn't like that it took such a terrible thing to happen for the two to start getting along, but she decided a long time ago she wouldn't bother herself with it. Jon needed everyone good enough by his side after what happened.

"Where is it?"

"He always takes it to the hallway and forgets it there, so it's probably –"

"Found it. Thanks Sans, see you." Arya hung up and popped into her martens and grabbing Jon's lunch pack.

She shouted "Mom, dad, I'm going out to meet Sansa and Margery!" and waited for her father's 'all right' before jumping out the door.

She bought the first thing they agreed on.

It was a simple, grey, knee length skirt and a black jumper with a wide cut. Arya insisted on getting Arya a proper necklace that would look 'so gorgeous!' with the clothes she was to wear that night.

It took them an hour, and although it was much longer than Arya usually spent on these 'shopping occasions', she knew it could have been much longer with Sansa, so she was mostly grateful. They had fun, though, Arya mocking the girls for their soft taste in everything, and them enjoying dressing up the cold, untouchable little Arya. All in all, Arya loved spending time with them (not that she would ever tell them) because their age was finally one in which Sansa never fought her on anything, and with the years they spent apart, they were both glad for the opportunity to hang out as sisters again.

"Thanks Marg, couldn't do it without you." Sansa hugged her friend and winked at Arya, as the object of the implied difficulty.

Margaery only laughed and hugged both of them. "I'm so glad you're back, Arya. And you two finally act like the dear sisters you are."

When Arya and Sansa both rolled their eyes, Margaery laughed again. "Bye, girls! See you tonight."

Jon's face pulled into a huge grin when he saw his sisters, and he left his friend's (Gendry's) side immediately to meet them.

"Forgot your lunch." Sansa said, and Arya handed him the bag.

Jon scowled. "Thanks, I don't know how I keep forgetting it…"

"We all know how, Snow." They all turned around to see Gendry standing close to them. "You aren't truly awake until after noon."

While Sansa laughed and Jon grunted and smiled sheepishly, Arya stared and studied Gendry's face.

The man looked back at her and something twitched in his smile – Arya wanted to know what his stupid brain was thinking at the sight of her.

"You're the one to talk." Jon said. He put one arm around Sansa who leaned into him, and tugged on Arya's long braid with his other hand. She laughed and pulled away. "Gendry here," Jon said in his tone of sweet revenge. "happens to come to work late almost every single day."

"At least when I come I work as I'm supposed to, while your lazy arse only manages to walk around and turn over everything in its way." Gendry teased back.

The two would have probably kept bickering, but Sansa cut them off and said the girls had to go get themselves prepared.

"We do not!" Arya said, scandalized. It was scarcely past noon. "It's _dinner_, Sansa, not lunch!"

"And you're Arya, and not _Miss Westeros_." Sansa bit back, leaving the men guffawing in laughter and Arya squinting at her with murder in her eyes.

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere, especially after this." Arya threatened, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Suit yourself, but remember, you drove us here in my car. Margaery was my ride, but now I've got my own." Sansa pulled out her keys and clacked them in the air. She even had the wit to smirk winningly.

"Fine." Arya snarled. "I'll wait for Jon."

Jon and Gendry exchanged frightened, confused looks. Their bickering was one thing, but the threats the girls pulled of included people completely uninvolved with them.

"Only if he agrees." Sansa and Arya turned to face Jon, remarkably alike with their stubborn, killer expressions. They probably looked like they were related for the first time in their lives.

Gendry looked frightened, but Arya knew Jon wouldn't be. "As long as my life is safe, I'll agree to anything you two decide."

Sansa shot him one more glare before nodding and proudly walking away.

Arya looked after her, biting her lip. What if her sister refused to help her anymore?

She reverted her eyes to the boys in front of her and almost chocked at the sight of Gendry crossing his arms on his chest. If only he hadn't worn that short-sleeved shirt.

She willed herself to look away, feeling her blood heat up, and her chest squeeze, and she felt like she had the first time she saw him, years ago. But she wasn't a damned teenager, and she definitely wasn't going to drool after a tall, hot, black-haired man just because he was all that. And his eyes – not, she definitely wasn't going to appreciate his eyes, because they were not endless pits of blue sky and safety and depth. Arya was so not that girl – she never would be.

"I think I should probably go after her." Arya remarked. "After all, she is my only hope to get through tonight."

"What's tonight?" Gendry asked and cocked one eyebrow up.

_Oh, don't do that. Don't do that if you'd like to keep your clothes on._

Arya switched her eyes between him and Sansa's retreating form. "Uh, it's um – it's this dinner… the big dinner they call it, Sansa and Marg, I mean… ugh, she's – oh, what the hell! Slow down, Sansa!" Arya stepped back from them a bit, completely unfocused. "Jon'll tell you more, there'll be loads of people and friends and it's all a bit silly…"

"What's the occasion?"

This time it wasn't Sansa distracting her. It was Gendry and his arms – _again_. "Nothing really, anyway I gotta run… you should come!"

Bravo, Arya. Bravo.

Realizing what she said, she ran away from them and shouted a crazy 'bye' over her shoulder. She thought she heard Jon laughing after her while Gendry asked him if she was serious.

She really wanted and didn't want to know the answer.

"Nice lad, that Gendry." Sansa remarked as she drove them home. "I met him a few times with Jon, don't know if you have. He's really nice and clever, I think."

"'s got good eyebrows." Arya mussed. She reddened as soon as she realized what she had said. Damn it!

But Sansa only laughed it off. "Oh Lord, Arya, you never change! Stop with the sarcasm, I'm only trying to talk to you."

Arya was so glad her sister was a careful driver, so she wouldn't look away from the road for a second. If she had… well, by the flush in Arya's cheeks, she would have known it wasn't sarcasm at all.

"Right." Arya tried to sound on the verge of annoyance. "Yes, of course, darling, he's very clever, and I cannot understand half the ever so smart things he'd told us!"

Sansa laughed and shook her head. "You'll see, Arya, one day even you will blush at someone like that! Just wait and see!"

And Arya couldn't help but glance at the rear view mirror; her cheeks were so red she almost believed it was from a sudden illness.

**A/N** _I'm sorry, sorry, sorry and sorry. I've spent a long time in a hospital, since my condition's been very bad. I'm better now, but if you want me to keep updating (more regularly, of course), you'll have to review, too! And of course, I give my thanks to everyone who had already reviewed. You're the sweetest._


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